


Mr. Campion's Snarl

by SpaceTimeConundrum



Series: The Werewolf of Bottle Street [4]
Category: Albert Campion - Margery Allingham
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Mother-Son Relationship, Spoilers - The Fashion in Shrouds, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-13 01:52:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9101074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceTimeConundrum/pseuds/SpaceTimeConundrum
Summary: In which Mr. Campion attends a wedding and has an uncomfortable encounter with his past.





	

It was a fine autumn evening as Mr. Albert Campion retired to the rooftop terrace of the Papendeik Fashion House with a glass of champagne in hand. He made an elegant shadow as he leaned against the carved stone parapet in his dinner jacket and looked out over the park and the endless stream of cars passing slowly in the street below. Recent rain meant that he had the terrace nearly to himself, which suited his solitary mood.

Glancing over his shoulder once more to be certain that he had not been missed, Campion allowed himself a small sigh of relief. The cocktail reception he’d left behind should continue for another hour yet, he estimated, plenty of time to collect himself before his presence would be required again. Guests were still trickling in, many having been delayed coming from the church, London’s already infamous traffic having worsened with the unexpected downpour that afternoon. The skies, at least, had since largely cleared, leaving the night air cool and fresh.

It had been a trying day. As the bride’s brother and sole representative of their family in attendance, he’d been pressed into service entertaining some of the groom’s more difficult relations that morning; a task which ordinarily should not have caused him much difficulty. And yet, several tedious hours later, having made repeated attempts at engaging his charges in polite conversation - efforts which had been uniformly met with either disinterest or unhappy silence - he’d begun to debate whether it might not be diplomatic to feign acute digestive distress and flee to the toilet rather than remain in their stultifying company for another minute.

Mercifully, an alternative solution had presented itself in the form of the indomitable Lady Papendeik, whose many talents included an uncanny ability to recognise Mr. Campion’s moods even through the mask of affable vacuity which was his customary guise. Tante Marthe, as she was known to friends and enemies alike, had spotted his frustration from across the room and, realising his difficulty, took pity upon him. She'd swept to his rescue in a whirlwind of perfumed silks and velvet, effortlessly redirecting his companions’ attentions and effecting necessary introductions to more like-minded guests, allowing him to make a hasty retreat outside.

Through the glass doors opposite his present perch lay Papendeik’s famous golden showroom, repurposed for the occasion to play host to a different sort of exhibition this evening. Val and her new husband Alan Dell were just inside, busy greeting an endless stream of well-wishers. The newlyweds seemed to be holding up rather well, considering. Val was radiant in a superbly modern gown of her own design while Alan stood self-consciously immaculate in black at her side.

Sipping at his drink, Campion watched from afar as his new brother-in-law accepted what was likely his hundredth congratulatory handshake with aplomb, his polite smile showing only the barest hints of fraying at the edges. Impressive, really, for a man who’d only recently learnt to set aside his engineering schematics long enough to notice the rest of society around him. These past five months had served as one hell of an introduction to life in the public eye, he supposed.

Campion quite liked Alan, in spite of his flaws, which made a pleasant change from his sister’s first husband, whom he’d really only met the once, unless one counted the funeral, and by then any opportunity for correcting that poor first impression had been thoroughly lost. Since the unexpected announcement of their engagement two months previously, the change which had come over his sister had been positively remarkable. Campion had never seen her this incandescently happy before and that fact alone counted considerably in Alan's favour.

He’d still not entirely forgiven Val for her reckless behaviour during that ghastly affair with Georgia Wells at Caesar’s Court, but it was difficult to bear a grudge now that the matter had been resolved. Ferdie Paul had been brought to justice and they’d all miraculously survived with their reputations intact. With a public trial looking increasingly unlikely, it seemed they might be spared that additional embarrassment as well. A favourable outcome all round. Only Ramillies and that poor girl Miss Adamson might disagree, he thought darkly.

He frowned and glanced up at the sky, searching out the faint glimmer of stars through the yellow glow of reflected city lights.

Involuntarily, Mr. Campion found himself contemplating his own impending marriage.

It was a supremely curious position to find himself in now, having spent so long a bachelor. Marriage had always seemed such an abstract concept to him, something he’d vaguely supposed he might do, should the right young lady present herself, but never really considered seriously. 

Oh, he had been in love many times, but to little result, save a battered heart and wounded pride each time. After his most recent disappointment, he’d very nearly given up on the idea of romance entirely, it had seemed so unlikely that this pattern should change. If Amanda hadn’t seized upon the notion of a pretend engagement to serve as a distraction when she had, he doubted the thought of marrying her would have ever occurred to him. Now that the thing had become a reality, he was beginning to find the prospect a little daunting. It wasn’t that he regretted his impulsive proposal, he was really very fond of Amanda, but what did he know of weddings or being a proper husband?

Amanda was such a practical sort though, and they were both naturally more private persons than Val or even Alan. Perhaps she could be convinced to skip all this unnecessary pageantry and elope. Having observed, from a vantage point entirely too close for comfort, Val’s whirlwind efforts to assemble the present festivities, it seemed a beastly amount of work to go about this marriage business any other way.

At least there was no imminent danger he supposed. Amanda wasn’t keen on leaving her position at Alandel until the new Seraphim models were ready, and then there was so much that they still needed to discuss beforehand - practical matters such as deciding where they ought to live, if perhaps they might want children someday, and the terrifying business of finally revealing his secret to her.

As if summoned by his thoughts, the glass doors to the terrace opened then and Amanda herself appeared. She wore a long, silver gown that shimmered like mercury as she moved and accentuated her figure magnificently. The dress was one of Val’s designs, of course. Her hair had been pinned and swept to one side, ruby tendrils draped over her right shoulder to arresting effect.

“There you are. I’d wondered where you’d disappeared to,” she said, smiling at him.

“Just taking in the air,” he replied.

“It is a bit of a madhouse in there, isn’t it?” she said, correctly interpreting his mood. She came over to stand beside him and peer down at the busy street several storeys below them.

“View’s much better out here too,” she added, rubbing her bare arms to keep warm.

“Considerably,” he agreed, watching her admiringly. He set down his glass and removed his jacket, draping it carefully around her narrow shoulders.

She accepted it gratefully and looked over at him. In profile, the lenses of his trademark spectacles couldn’t obscure his pale eyes from her inquisitive gaze. Elbows resting on the parapet, he pretended to be intensely interested in watching a taxi wind its way back through the evening traffic after expelling its passengers at the kerb.

“You’ll have to come and meet the lads in a bit,” she said, after a moment’s silence. “I’m afraid they’ve formed rather outlandish expectations about you, given everything that happened this summer, and I haven’t had the heart to discourage them. Do be gentle in letting them down, Albert. They’ve had enough of a shock tonight seeing me in this dress. It’s going to be hell trying to get them to focus on work come Monday.”

Campion chuckled. “Should I have brought my sword cane and deerstalker cap?”

She grinned and nudged his arm with her shoulder. “It certainly would’ve made an impression.”

They shared a laugh and fell into a light-hearted conversation about her awestruck co-workers and other memorable moments from the ceremony. Amanda was always so delightfully easy to talk to. After a while, Campion glanced at his watch and sighed.

“I suppose you and I ought to go back in there and be sociable before someone sends out the search brigade,” he said.

Amanda agreed and so they abandoned their secluded patio to rejoin the party.

Reclaiming his jacket from her at the door, he paused to resettle the garment on his own shoulders, tugging perfunctorily at his cuffs. Her scent clung to the jacket, which had a strangely calming effect on him.

As they walked in, Val caught sight of him through the crowd and gestured frantically for them to come over. The room had filled up considerably in his absence however, and he wasn’t able to reach her before the object of her attempted warning became clear. A firm, almost martial, female voice at his side arrested him, and Campion turned to face a woman he had not seen in more than ten years.

“Mother,” he said, not quite believing his eyes.

“Rudolph,” said the slim, elder figure engulfed in pearls and a mink shoulder wrap. She examined him carefully, with pale eyes much like her son’s. “You’re looking well.”

At her side, nominally supporting her, was a tall, thin man in his early forties with faded red hair and a curiously lopsided posture. He leaned heavily on a cane with his off hand and his lean wooden face bore a remarkable resemblance to Campion’s own.

A short, uncomfortable silence followed, Campion’s intellect having temporarily abandoned him.

It was Amanda who saved him from embarrassment by squeezing his arm, breaking the spell that surprise and sudden dread had cast over him, and he hastily effected introductions.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he said, collecting himself. “Mother, may I present my fiancée Lady Amanda Fitton, of Pontisbright. Amanda, my dear, this is my mother, Lady Emily Kemp, the Dowager Viscountess Edgefield, and my brother Herbert, Lord Edgefield.”

Eyes wide, Amanda greeted them respectfully and murmured the appropriate pleasantries.

“Good to meet you, my dear,” his mother said, eyeing Amanda coldly. “I read of your engagement in the papers, though I hadn’t expected to find such news in the crime features. I understand you were involved in the apprehension of a dangerous character some months ago.”

Sensing danger, Campion stepped in before Amanda could say anything incriminating. “Only peripherally. Amanda works with Alan Dell, who had the misfortune of doing business with the man.”

“I see.” Her tone made it clear that she remained unconvinced.

Campion felt a flush of unreasonable irritation at her rising within himself, an all too familiar feeling when conversing with his mother which he had not missed. He suppressed the urge to snarl at her.

“Why are you here?” he asked somewhat baldly, deliberately changing the subject. “I thought you didn’t approve.” Val had complained to him of their mother’s high-handed missive instructing her daughter to have nothing further to do with Alan.

She gave him a reproving look. “I received an invitation,” she said with great dignity, as if this were the only explanation required.

This information, if true, and he had no real reason to suppose it wasn’t, was startling enough. Campion couldn’t imagine Val intentionally inviting their mother to her wedding, save out of spite, which he supposed might explain it. Still, it was equally improbable that she should have then accepted said invitation, after nearly a decade’s absence from her children’s lives. Something must be up. 

Campion looked to his brother, hoping to obtain some hint there. Herbert gave him a tight-lipped shrug in reply. He evidently had no more idea of their mother’s motives than any of them. 

As the eldest, Herbert had nearly always taken the conventional line when it came to disagreements, which had ultimately earned him greater parental esteem and made him insufferably dull as a sibling, in Campion’s opinion. As self-serious and duty-bound as their father even as a youth, he'd had little patience for his younger brother's antics. Still, there'd been no real animosity between them then. 

When Campion had been dismissed from the familial good graces for his many sins, Herbert had sided with their mother. Since then, though their paths had crossed in London once or twice, and he'd once borrowed and failed to return a car from him, their relationship had devolved to the odd note in the post whenever some relation or another had died and nothing more. They led very different lives.

"Am I to understand this visit is in the nature of a conciliatory tour then?" Campion asked, only slightly facetiously. "Has all been forgiven? Are we to be welcomed back into the fold with open arms?"

His mother's sharp eyes flashed at him. "Don't be absurd, Rudolph," she snapped. "I haven't -"

"Albert," he corrected without thinking, cutting her short.

"I beg your pardon?" Her voice was dangerously calm.

"Call me Albert, please," he said, ignoring the instinctive impulse to run. "Unless you're prepared to publicly acknowledge a notorious criminal investigator as your son, I should think a bit more discretion would be advised. There are quite a lot of important people here tonight. Someone's bound to overhear us talking and wonder what's up."

Her pale cheeks flushed pink with indignation as she drew herself up imperiously before replying. "Evidently this disgraceful occupation you've chosen for yourself has had a corrupting influence on your manners. You forget yourself," she said warningly.

Campion smiled, showing his teeth, an expression not nearly as friendly as it seemed. "Perhaps you're right," he said agreeably. "In which case, I shan't embarrass you any further. Amanda, my dear, I believe you were going to introduce me to your colleagues?" 

Amanda responded gracefully to this abrupt departure from the conversation and bade Lady Emily and Lord Edgefield farewell as Campion guided her away. Once they'd made it safely out of earshot, she turned to him though.

"What was that about then?" she asked, folding her arms and looking at him questioningly.

"That, my dear girl, is a very long and unpleasant tale, I'm afraid." He passed a hand over his hair and sighed. 

"The abbreviated facts are thus - I've not spoken with my mother in more than ten years. In her opinion, sleuthing was too unsavoury a profession for a young gentleman of my position, as you may have gathered. We had something of a falling out over the issue, and once the dust settled, I was asked politely to never darken the family hall again and forced to adopt a pseudonym lest I blacken their good name with my shameful trade," he said, adding, "Val received a similar dismissal a few years later when she married against our mother's wishes."

"Oh, well that's all right then," Amanda said cheerfully. "I mean, people do get such funny ideas about what's proper once you've a title attached to your name. Rather silly if you ask me." 

Campion reflected that she, of anyone he knew, was uniquely well-positioned to appreciate this fact.

"I certainly don't mind what you do," she added. "Jolly exciting stuff, really. Though I think I would prefer it if in future, fewer people tried to kill you, for purely selfish reasons you understand." She grinned at him.

He laughed. "Naturally."

"Any other dark secrets from your past I ought to know about?" she teased. "Speak now or forever hold your peace..."

Mr. Campion didn't answer.

**Author's Note:**

> I've committed what is perhaps a cardinal sin for this series in assigning Mr. Campion a surname and family title and referring to them explicitly in the text, as Allingham was always so careful not to, but felt it necessary to do so in order to introduce his mother and elder brother properly. 
> 
> The names I selected were based on a careful study of the scant clues provided in the books and a bit of creative thinking - we're told his real surname begins with a 'K', and provided his, his mother's and brother's first names only. In a later book, notably after his elder brother is implied to have passed away, Lugg slips and refers to him in conversation as "Vicount Clever". For the linguistic nerds in my audience, it may interest you to learn that the names "Kemp" and "Campion" both roughly translate to "Champion" which honestly made it too perfect not to use. Edgefield was simply a pleasant-sounding village from Campion's alleged home county of Norfolk, which didn't already have a real peerage associated with it.


End file.
